Chapter Eleven
We don’t kill.
Violet didn’t know why, of all times, Drake’s words of earlier came to mind right now.
The statement ought to have been reassuring in a way; it had been at first. It spoke to a code of honor.
Honor amongst devils, but honor nonetheless.
However, staring at the ruffians before her, she was also reminded that in circumstances such as these, the strongest hand dictated the outcome.
And it might very well come down to strike or be struck down.
Could she kill a man? She didn’t think so.
She was a runner, after all. The difference, she supposed, was that this time she hadn’t run when she should have.
Did they even stand a chance?
A thought occurred to Violet. Did this have something to do with her brother?
Why had that man seemed familiar to her?
Since Drake had tried to lure her brother into a trap, there must be more to their discord.
But this went far beyond mere rivalry. This was outright war!
What had the Fury done to her brother? What had her brother done to him?
More horrifying still, was her brother here in the fray?
“Let me off,” Violet said urgently. “I can run away on foot and you on horse.”
“Not a chance in hell, Violet.”
An arm banded around her waist, the same arm he’d been using to staunch his wound, and a protest welled in her throat. But before she could voice a single objection, he jerked the reins into a sharp left and drove the horse into a gallop, driving into a narrow alleyway.
Violet risked a glance over their shoulders, and her stomach plummeted. Several of the men set after them. Before she could count how many, they disappeared from her view. “There must be at least four or five following us!”
“Let them,” Drake growled. “They won’t catch us.”
“You sound awfully confident for a man bleeding out.” She wouldn’t forgive him if he died in front of her eyes!
“Bleeding, yes. Out, no. Not tonight.” His hand tightened around her waist as they took another sharp turn. “Why don’t you hold on to me, little flame? This will get worse before it gets better.”
“Where should I hold?” she snapped. “Your legs?”
“Turn your body and wrap your arms around me.”
“Are you mad?” Violet snapped. The man was bleeding and still managed to sound amused. “This is no time to joke.”
“Believe me, Violet, I’m not joking.”
Shouts echoed behind them.
“You could put pressure on my wound as well,” he added tightly, his humor briefly slipping. “Since you’re so determined I not bleed out.”
Ah, blazes. How could she fight against that? “Fine, but if we topple over, I swear you will regret it.”
An infuriating chuckle filled her ears. “I almost can’t wait.”
Vexing man.
She twisted around, her hands clutching his leg for balance before she flung her arms around him.
Her cheek found his shoulder, settling against the reassuring solidness.
With a bracing inhale, she slid her hands lower, fitting her forearm against his side, right where the shirt clung wet and warm.
Even through her coat, she sensed the sodden cling of his shirt beneath her forearm, enough to send her stomach swooping.
She pressed harder regardless. He needed this. Needed her.
In the end, even though she’d tried to save the man, he’d still gotten hurt.
What had even been the point? She wasn’t the sort to save people.
She hadn’t been able to save herself without the help of Holly and Pippa, who not only had helped her leave London without a trace, but also planted the seed and encouraged her to do so.
Without them, she might truly have lived a life more miserable than words.
Despite her bold thoughts of claiming this life and not leaving, and her bold determination to be strong, she’d wanted to flee the moment she’d believed her brother might be here in the streets, somewhere.
Useless girl.
The voice was old and familiar.
Not now, Violet!
A low curse rumbled against her ear, and she realized she’d been tightening her arms around Drake. His wound. “Too hard?” she asked.
“No,” he ground out. “They’re herding us. Damn it.”
She lifted her head to look, but he pressed her back to his chest again.
“Don’t look. Just keep focusing on keeping as much blood in my body as you can.”
Violet did as he told. This way, at least, she could be useful to him, and she didn’t have to panic and distract him if things looked dismal. His whole body was taut enough already, his focus absolute. Hers should be too.
Hooves pounded in pursuit, though it sounded as if they were coming from all directions, not just behind. Was this what being herded meant? But to where?
Violet decided to trust him.
If he said these people wouldn’t catch them, she would believe him.
Drake yanked on the reins again. The horse skidded, caught itself, and surged on.
Violet risked a quick glance over her shoulder. Drat. “Someone is gaining on us!”
“Let him try,” Drake muttered.
The pounding grew louder. Violet wanted to peek again, but Drake’s hand clamped over her crown, forcing her down again.
“For God’s sake, stay down.”
Bang! A shot nearly deafened her.
Violet flinched violently, and sheer terror ripped through her. “They’re shooting at us!” God save them. Was he hit? She would have felt it if he was hit, right?
“It’s not them. It’s my brothers.”
Instant relief blanketed her along with a sliver of skepticism. “How can you be sure?”
“Trust me. My brothers are on the roofs. Probably Maxen, Serpent, and Saint.”
The roofs? “That’s oddly specific.”
“I can sense them.”
“Your senses are a bit off tonight.”
“Only where knives are concerned.”
Another shot cracked through the night, and this time the rider on their heels faltered, retreated, or vanished entirely. Violet dared not look. She had only her ears to tell her whether death still thundered behind them.
“So you led these men into your territory?” Smart.
“We never left my territory, little flame. We’ve been in it all along. But here these arses will pay for entering it.”
Only here he had brothers on the rooftops with pistols in hand. “There should still be men on our trail.”
No answer. Not even a grunt of acknowledgement.
Her brows knitted. “Drake?”
She looked at him, eyes widening at the sight of his eyes closed. She shoved at him. “Drake!” His whole body jerked, a curse slipping from his lips. “We are still in the midst of a chase, you brute! Don’t do that.” She hated how unsteady her voice came out. “Are you all right?”
“Never been better, little flame.”
“Don’t lie. We need to find shelter, now.”
He nodded.
Something must be seriously wrong for him to reserve his remarks.
“How far are we from the tavern?” Violet asked. His brother seemed to have wanted them to go back there.
“Too far,” he denied. “But don’t worry, I have a place close by.” He urged the horse into a faster gallop. “Hold on.”
I have been holding on. As if she’d ever let go!
Violet was determined to hold on for dear life.
Eternal life, if she had to. She had no intention of dying tonight, certainly not in the arms of a man this infuriating.
And certainly not with him in hers. She only prayed the “place nearby” wasn’t the graveyard.
Besides that, wherever he was taking her, it could not possibly be worse than the men giving chase.
*
Drake could tell the woman in his arms was terrified and he bloody hated it.
She should be smiling, narrowing her gaze on him in challenge, cursing him, boldly declaring her stances, not hiding in his arms like a crushed wallflower.
He hated what it did to him, too, this particular need to put the spark back in her eyes, but that didn’t matter right now.
He needed to get her to safety.
And he needed to bloody stop the bleeding before he did something unforgivably weak and toppled off this damn horse. Fury infiltrated every inch of blood and bone. He needed no damned guesswork to name the devil responsible.
They’d lost their pursuers for now. But his brothers would only stall them for so long.
He couldn’t afford the luxury of a long mad dash.
He already lost his focus once, so he damn well had to get his wound handled before she noticed he was in far worse condition than he let on. They had to secure safety fast.
He guided the horse into another side lane and then a narrower passage.
There.
One of his safeholds. Thank God. A narrow, nondescript brown door wedged between two derelict buildings and easy to overlook.
Drake yanked the reins, dragging the horse to a hard stop.
Pain flared sharp along his side, but he pushed it aside and slid his arm beneath Violet.
A soft yelp slipped out when he dismounted with her in his arms, her own flying around his neck, her legs locking instinctively at his hips.
“Put me down,” she hissed near his ear. “You’ll make your wound worse.”
“I’m fine,” Drake bit out. But he reluctantly set her on her feet, unable to argue with her logic.
His vision tightened at the edges, a slow, insidious fog creeping through his skull, dulling the sharpness of his senses.
His body felt wrong—too light in places, too heavy in others—his muscles fighting with the effort to obey him.
The wound throbbed in vicious pulses, each one stealing a little more strength than he could spare.
Just wall it off.
“How could you be fine?” she challenged. “You are bleeding through your shirt and your grip is not as steady as you think it is.”
“You noticed that.” Too perceptive for her own good.
“I notice everything,” she said tartly. “It’s how I’ve survived this long.”
Another piece of her, noted and stored. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He turned and stepped up to their hideout, braced himself, and drove his boot into the door. It splintered inward with a crack that split the silence in the narrow street. He grasped her wrist and pulled her inside, his steed following without a command.
“What is this place?”